Paid in Full
by SpArRoWsWeNcH
Summary: A tale of the unlikely friendship between James Norrington and Jack Sparrow. [not slash] Full summary inside! Read and enjoy! Reviews are very much appreciated. CHAPTER 6 JACK HAS ENTERED!
1. Chapter 1

This story is the tale of an unlikely friendship between James Norrington and Jack Sparrow. It is set after the second movie, though disregards all history of Davy Jones' heart and all such nonsense. It simply does, however, relate to the fact that James had resigned his commission as Commodore and had chased Jack and his crew through a hurricane. The Pearl has been overtaken by the British Royal Navy and all of the crew were captured, with the exception of the infamous Jack Sparrow. Nonetheless, it is our two favorite characters engaged in a wonderful friendship! Read on and do enjoy their story!

One couldn't ever really decipher what was so viciously running through the mind of Mr. James Norrington. His thoughts were always so majestically concealed between his richly lined face and his eyes, his wonderfully large, giving eyes, typically only revealed what their viewer desired to read. James was always content in being the reason for another's contentment themselves. He was always humble, to a certain extent, never bold nor proud of his accomplishments or achievements. He was so dashingly handsome, handsome even when under the influence of a white, powdered wig.

His uniform tonight was celebrated with a rich number of medals, all fairly new to his title_. 'Admiral James Norrington._' His name had only seemed right for the position; it was more befitting than any title he had previously claimed. The buttons of his coats were gleaming in the candlelight, but for what? A dinner and ball were to be celebrated in his name—for glasses to be clashed, for platters of food to be washed down with bottles of endless wine, for women and men to show their timely steps to a quartet's never-ending music! It was so fabulous for James, the attention splashed upon him for the evening!

He admired himself in the mirror, tucking a stray hair from his wig beneath another strand. He adjusted his tri-colored hat atop his head and grinned with satisfaction. Awakening from his reverie, a servant spoke.

"Admiral Norrington, your carriage awaits you." Two deeply blackened Clydesdales awaited him, their freshly groomed coats glimmering beneath the stars. Their bridles were neatly adorned with medals themselves, prepared to be the first wondrous sign of the arrival of such a town hero.

"My thanks, sir," replied James, tipping his hat. His black boot stepped into the carriage. The ride was quiet, simple and quaint, only a few moments away from the destination. The governor, who much enjoyed considering James his son while growing up, was the event's host, calling it his gift to James on behalf of his promotion.

Following the ride, his carriage door was open to the bows of men, of curtsies from women. Their smiles were genuine, as was his as he would casually respond to such actions. As he approached the top of the flight of steps leading to the entrance of the Swann mansion, the Governor stood before him.

"_Admiral_ Norrington," the governor emphasized, his eyes glittering at the site of his so-called 'son.'

"Governor," he replied, tilting the edge of his hat, never breaking their stare. He continued into the ballroom. It smelt of fresh salmon and turkey breast, of cool ice and of brilliant tasting wines. Golden lamp fixtures or chandeliers were the highlights of the room, and the finest of silverware and the richest of draperies accented them.

He settled himself among the highest standing of officials, naturally. They all offered beams of acceptance and gratitude which he rightfully accepted in offering the same back. As the meal had finally begun to commence, the Governor stood himself up before the crowd and raised his glass approvingly while he caught James' eye.

"Let us acknowledge, at this moment, what our Admiral has offered our town and how he has rightfully played his position." He spoke with enthusiasm and the music faded. "Let us raise our glasses in honor of a rightful promotion, serve a toast in honor of a man who willingly offers his full self in times of need, one who puts others regularly before himself!" A standard 'clinking' sound was rushed throughout the room as faces glowed with appreciation at the man sitting beside the governor at the head table.

The governor seated himself and before taking a drink, he held his glass before James' eyes and tossed him one of his typical, respecting smiles. James blushed slightly before he closed his eyes and took his deserving sip before the crowd.

Roger Ellington, stout in figure with a thin, black mustache accenting his upper lip, sat across from James. He had plain brown eyes and a wrinkling forehead. His wife, Lady Anna, held a look almost near identical to his own. She was adorned in fine jewels with contemptuous lines etched across her stingy face. They stared disdainfully at James. Her plump figure, dressed in a pale white gown took away from the beauty of the hand carved chairs surrounding them, for she swallowed it in entirety. Her hand tightly grasped her husband's atop the table as he opened his mouth to speak.

"Governor Swann certainly pulled many a number of strings to allow you sit in this position today, don't you agree, Admiral?" James shot him a look of horror. Certainly it had been the Governor's doing that he'd regained his honor. It had most definitely been by his help that people were able to disregard former events and to replace their sullen ideas with those that Weatherby had encouraged in James' favor

"The Governor has done many things for me in my life which I am most grateful to," he retorted, hoping to strike a conversation with the fellow which sat beside him. The faces surrounding the table grew interested as they fixed their ears to enjoy the exchange of words before them. Certainly they were aware of such a truth, but they rather chose to ignore it, being knowledgeable that James was true to his word to the law and that those ideas had been unchanged between his misfortunes.

"But certainly this one holds far above the rest," Sir Ellington replied, evilly chuckling as his haughty words stumbled beneath his lips. He caught the eyes of the surrounding crowd as he continued. "The respect given to you would be nothing if it weren't for him."

"He has expressed his thanks, Mr. Ellington," interrupted Governor Swann. His face had grown red with fury as he stood before the table and placed his hands atop James' broad shoulders.

"Ah, but has he ever wondered aloud what a pitiful life he would have led had it not been for you, Sir," he finished. He raised his eyebrows and his glass as he satisfyingly took a sip of his wine.

Norrington had fully grown flushed, though his eyes had never faltered and had remained calm to sight. The very edge of his forehead, just beneath his hairline, had become littered with sweat. He used his napkin to remove them as he opened his mouth to once again speak.

"I…I," Whatever he had in mind had either most certainly refused to come out, or was never quite fully developed and decided to not uncover embarrassment.

Captain Roessler had practically freed James as his booming voice showered the conversation previously at hand. He was a tall man. His face was clean elegantly clean besides a light tuft of hair just in the center of his chin and his uniform was always up to caliber. The Governor settled himself upon his seat once more as Roessler spoke.

"James Norrington, I must congratulate you personally!" he cheered, tipping his hat. The color ran into James' face. Roessler continued. "Or should I say, _Admiral_," he chuckled, lightly throwing a playful punch at James' shoulder. A lighthearted laugh emerged from the depths of Norrington as he rose to his feet.

He shook the man's hand before him. "Captain Roessler, it's my pleasure to finally speak with you again. It's been too long." The table resumed their bantering of nonsense and continued on with the meal as the pair engaged in further discussion.

"Indeed, Sir." They released hands. He cleared his throat before he spoke once more. "Perhaps later you'd care to share a waltz with my daughter, Miss Beatrice."

Norrington approved of such a request.--


	2. Chapter 2

James Norrington was always considered to be the man upon the dance floor which all other men envied and which every woman dreamed having his arms about her waist. He was quite the leader, one who would take his partner into his sturdy frame and accentuate her steps, however wondrous or terrible, nearly gliding across the floorboards.

Beatrice Roessler was certainly, in James' mind, one of the prettiest young women attending the ball. Her straight, long brown locks extended to the small of her back, pinned away from her face. Her chest was much exposed in her evening gown, lilac in color and highlighting her white skin.

Lady Roessler had faintly been shy as she and Norrington took the dance floor before the crowd as the first waltz initiated. Her steps were timid, awkward, short, and imprecise. Her hand gripped in a gnarly fashion at his shoulder, tensed by such force of motion. His jaw was clenched in a fashion what seemed comfortable and content to her, what drew the audience to believe all was perfect.

She would apologize as her tiny feet would clash atop his. His features never faltered, however, and he'd keep to rhythm with the steps at hand. He smiled at her, reassured her she was doing alright as a dancer. Lucky for her, her charming looks certainly made up for lack of personality. Conversation was lax between them, consisting mainly of apologizes for wrongful steps or merely of the charm of the little ballroom's decorations.

The music ceased, finally. He took her hand into his and placed his lips upon her white, satin glove.

"It's been my pleasure," he lied. She subtly nodded and turned to return to her table.

He began treading now, back to his chair, when he caught the glimpse of Thomas Bennington beside his wife and daughter across the room. He lowered his hat while they caught eyes and swiftly began in their direction.

Thomas' face illuminated as he clutched James' hand rightfully, placing his other hand atop the pair.

"How wonderful the promotion!" His voice was dancing with pride for his dear friend.

As always, James humbly flashed his white, brilliant teeth.

"My thanks, Sir."

Immediately at the conclusion of his previous statement, he tipped his hat individually to each of the two women as he spoke.

"Lady…Miss."

Thomas shuffled to James' side, appropriately following James' lead in heeding attention to the women.

"This is my wife, Linda," he stammered, "and daughter, Clara." He softly nudged James' arm with the introduction of his daughter, his eye glimmering.

"Miss Clara, perhaps you'd care to join me," he slightly leaned forward and motioned towards the couples upon the dance floor. She held her graceful arm to him; he put his strong one out to intertwine with hers.

Norrington had never been one to miss an opportunity to gain him either power or attention. He was always willing to perform whatever necessary to achieve goals, while either directly setting for them or by retrieving them by means of others. He was always one to dreadfully loathe such acts while performing them. Rather, he would imbed in his mind just what ultimate goal would be accomplished and carry on rightfully. And winning the hearts and minds of his elders was certainly a road much traveled.

Now, his second partner of the evening was rather flawless in step, minding all attention to the 1, 2, 3, 4 of the time of the music. Not once did her feet collide with his or their timing falter. In contrast to his first however, she seemed much more interested in the discussion of his tales, of accomplishments upon the sea and of his younger days. Even further detailing in this contrast, Clara Bennington was not the first woman attending such an event that one's eyes would be drawn to immediately.

She often kept her bosom tied neatly beneath her dress. Her black, bare gown was made entirely of fine, black velvet. Her face was rather square, not very much complimenting to the style in which she did her hair- tied into a tight, low bun at the nape of her neck. She rendered plain. Conversely, though, her insipid, brown eyes were warm and particularly inviting to their captor.

This time, when the music ceased he was rather content, determining his time as well spent and fully meaning the words he spoke of 'my pleasure.' --


	3. Chapter 3

Erica Sparrow: Jack is coming! I promise! Just give him a few more chapters, however. Right now I'm concentrating on developing the start of the sub-plot, developing Norrington's character, and giving the reader glimpses into his various relationships with other characters. Don't worry, it gets really interesting when he comes in! P.S. How can you not like Norrington? He's so amazing, and so dashingly handsome, and so wonderful and spectacular, and... oh boy I'm going crazy over him again! You can probably even tell how much I love him through my writing, I always decorate him with hidden compliments! Anyways, thanks for your reviews! I hope you keep reading and enjoying!

Chapter Three:

James set path onto what seemed an empty balcony, sitting upon a chair and extending his legs as so his feet rested upon the railing. He casually sipped a glass of his favorite wine, breathing peacefully the night's thick air. Just as he'd begun to collect his thoughts a woman's voice emerged from the shadows of the opposing side.

"It certainly doesn't seem so big until you stand before it." The woman's voice was relaxed, filled mainly with a questioning manner and a sense of wonder.

Norrington removed his feet from their rather improper position and heaved himself to his feet. Rather intrigued by such a statement, he took the liberty of developing a reply.

"It can be a formidable friend, or even a foe, at that, if you do not how to control or approach it. One can expect dire results if selfish motives are pursued. The sea is most unforgiving."

She faintly cocked her head, perplexed at such openness in a man she hadn't traded formal introductions with. However, she threw him an interested smile as she stepped farther into his presence. On the other side, he'd much appreciated her fervor, her remarks of such a thing he loved dearly. He shifted their comfortable state as he spoke.

"Do excuse my informality. Admiral James Norrington," he offered.

"Miss Catherine Bouvier, Sir." He reached for her hand and delicately placed his pink lips upon it.

"A pleasure," he finished as they lingered just a few more seconds in such a position.

She pivoted her tiny body as so her back could rest comfortably across the railing. He followed suit, once again raising the wine glass to his mouth.

"It's such a marvel, the manner in which the steps coincide."

Catherine Bouvier and her family were fairly new to Port Royal, recently moved, her father, a Lieutenant, mother a housewife. She was rich in looks, her golden, curly tendrils bouncing almost lively off her shoulders, her brilliant green dress accentuating her marvelous curls. Her face seemed almost younger, her eyes in particularly. They glowed, even in the darkness, with a delight of the simplest things. He admired such a feature.--

"Indeed," he replied. He pushed up his weight, and centered himself once more. He offered an arm to her.

"Perhaps you would care to become a marvel ourselves?"

Words were unnecessary in her reply and she slipped her arm through the open space as to connect the two.

He was considerably taller than her; her head fell just at his shoulders. He took her waist, she his shoulder as they positioned themselves. They took the floor in the middle of a slower tune, catching onto the steps and waltzing quietly. Only seconds into the dance, she'd stepped upon his foot, embarrassedly giggling.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, Sir!" she cried, attempting to hide the blush of her cheeks with the turn of her head.

"Not a worry, Miss Bouvier," he chuckled as he once again caught her attention.

"Catherine, to you." He grinned slightly.

"Well then, you ought to call me James, Catherine."

With that, the pace of a new song quickened, their steps falling in rapid rhythm. He clutched her back tightly as their bodies cut through the air. He, leader as he is, insisted upon the further hastening of the pace, of the rush of energy between the two. They were flying through the space now, her hair whipping casually behind her.

Her face was glowing with excitement. She was laughing almost loudly, laughing with her entire heart and he nearly carried her across the boards. He burst into a chuckle. The Admiral, the Admiral! was bursting into a full-fledged laugh as well, his cheekbones raising to inexplicable heights, his eyebrows arching with sheer bliss!

Anyone could see they felt themselves alone in that filled room. --


	4. Chapter 4

James had promised the Governor to stay in his mansion for the evening. After the guests had left and the ballroom cleaned, he changed into his nightclothes and washed his face. He removed his wig, placing it atop its stand. He lay quietly in the bed, positioning himself atop the covers as opposed to beneath them. He always had tended to become too warm in the night anyway.

He shifted his weight numerous times over the course of an hour or so, attempting wildly to simply close his eyes and to drift into a silent slumber. He discovered that impossible as he raised himself to his feet and covered himself with a robe. He lit a candle and lurked down the hall into the kitchen.

He set to prepare a warm cup of tea and found the kettle to be atop the stove already, water still blistering. He twisted his head to find the door of the balcony already opened, the governor, wearing similar attire, relaxed in a chair.

"Tea bags are in the left cupboard, James," his voice cracked in the silence. James smiled to himself as he stirred sugar into the mug.

He stepped into the now cool air, sat beside the Governor, and they each looked out upon the docks.

"Quite the celebration, don't you agree?" questioned Mr. Swann. His gaze was unchanging. James opened his mouth to reply, however, the Governor stopped him, also turning his wigless head to observe him.

"I saw you with our latest young woman, Miss Catherine Bouvier." James chuckled a bit as he lowered and shook his head.

"I'm one to welcome, eh?" He raised his head once more. "Although, I was with Miss Roessler and Lady Ellington and-"

"Oh you merely escorted the others, James. You were _with_ Miss Bouvier, however," cut the Governor once more. --

James Norrington awoke with a startle, the Governor, along with the array of servants, were bustling wildly throughout the house, telegrams of Port Royal's news flying through the air. The messengers were speaking as though they would forget just what they had to deliver if they weren't to get it out quickly. He then heard the Sparrow's name.

He jolted from the bed, ignoring all traces of formality as he dashed passed his newly pressed uniform and newly powdered white wig. The air was chilled, wretched, and wet with the mildest hint of dreariness hanging over the town. He bounded to Weatherby's office. There sat he, freshly groomed with the air of calmness spread before him. He was rustling through documents and failed to raise his head as he spoke to James.

"The navy captured the Black Pearl last evening, James. Each member of the crew has fully been accounted for." He raised his head and discarded the sheet he held within his hand. "With the exception of their Captain, Mr. Sparrow." The pair sauntered easily to the window. James had held his composure while the Governor continued. "Warrants for his arrest and notices of his escape have been posted. Dangerous man, Jack Sparrow."

There was something about said dangerous man, something exquisite and unique that James Norrington could never quite put his finger on. There were times when he'd decided he'd fully discovered it, that he'd ripped the man's soul into a thousand pieces that couldn't ever be repaired. That was never correct.

Jack Sparrow wasn't just a pirate. He was a brilliant man, a binding soul to the world. He had long ago sold himself to the sea. He was a conniving, vicious creature filled with horrible thoughts, a black mind. At least that's what he was in public eye.

He was a charmer with his tongue, able to escape any dreaded situation. It's his strength, you know. He would do anything for power. He would give all it takes simply to taste the sweet bouquet of authority and the freedom paired with it. He was a hungry person, escaping reality and falling into a world he called his own. That's why they call him, the pirate, so awfully contented.

James Norrington entered the town market with quite the air of elegance, a stately mixture still caressing his face, even in the dress of a casual pair of breeches and dainty white chemise. The cool air nipped at his few exposed chest hairs and the neat breeze poured over his rich locks. The call for dinner had long passed and the sun was now sinking beneath the horizon.

He crossed a bustling road and the sea arrested the entirety of his attention. He sauntered rather lazily along the shoreline admiring the building of ships in the distance, of fisherman and of traders. Such things captured his fascination so majestically!

He stepped just where the tide met the sand and inhaled the heavenly scent of a sea which he so loved. He could almost swear it loved him right back. Indeed she had often called him right to her heart, mindset to claim his life. She never followed through, she sucked him so near to such a fate, but rather took his ship and crewmen instead. She was most loving to worthy men.

He removed his shoes, continuing with his socks and finishing with the roll of his breeches to just above his knees. The wind held its breath as he continued his steps into the water. The air felt warm against his beautiful face. He stood in her shallow waters, his toes sinking beneath the great beads of sand which held him. The wind exhaled as he arched his back, chest opening to the skies, while he released his arms to their full extent.

Yes, at that moment, James Norrington did, indeed, decide she loved him with the entirety he did her. --


	5. Chapter 5

I'm back!

SODOKU: I was so flattered by your review, I blushed! It's always nice to have someone who takes their time to express their opinion about the writing that one spends so much time on. Isn't that what this site is all about, getting feedback on your pieces? Thank you for devoting some time to my story, I hope your ideas about it only get better! I hope one day to be on your infamous list of favorites! blushes again :)

And Jackline: I'm not lying! You must be thinking I am! I never realized how much I had written before Jack came into the story! It must be so terribly awful of you to have to sit there and worry about him! hahaha We all want him in here, don't we! He's in the next chapter, though. I promise!

And on to Chapter Five:

James settled himself at the head of the table that evening, almost an exact week since the emergence of such shocking news. He sat in a crisp navy uniform, all of its gold accents shining beneath the wondrous light. The food was scattered across the table, linens spread beneath it as a miniature crowd gathered in seats at the round table. It wasn't much of a dinner party, per say, much rather a welcoming party of the Bouviers and an introduction of them to the highest officials.

Many hearts fell, once again, beneath James' victory. He charmed the lot with his own heart, with his glowing face and with his kind words. He did always know just what everyone wanted to hear and was so often willing to hand them such a pleasure. The meal ended after talk of business nonsense and other manners of royalty and the men retired to the balcony for cigars.

They were lit ecstatically, the smoke engulfing the minute space while they all rested their weight upon the railing. It seemed they were all captivated by the same, dark ship just in their view.

"They're due to hang in a month, you know?" A man's voice broke into the air. The others proceeded to pivot and address the speaker, and alternatively James held his head. He raised the hot cigar to his sultry lips, further bending his body across the rail to better the view.

"Yes, all seventeen of the blood thirsty crew, men. Magnificent redemption!" They all mumbled responses of agreement, unconsciously nodding their heads and taking swift puffs of their cigars. Their voices fell into a distance while James maintained his glare and concentration upon a topic of discussion in which he ignored the discussion but rather furthered the topic in the confines of his own mind. The cigars burnt out within a few moments and they returned to the house; oh, all but the exception of James. He kept his watch. His nose crinkled in wonderment and he extinguished the ashes of his cigar atop the railing. A newcomer then came unto the deck.

She waltzed beside him and latched her arm to his while he straightened his body in her presence.

"Did you much enjoy yourself this evening, Miss Bouvier?"

"Catherine," she whispered. She picked up her volume to continue, "And indeed I did, it was most entertaining."

He smiled politely and opened his mouth to recite words of adoration retaining to her looks, but rather she cut in.

"Would you mind telling me of a Mr. Captain Jack Sparrow? His name has been mentioned quite a number of times and I certainly cannot follow his tales without knowing of his person!" She cocked her head slightly, awaiting his response. His lips had folded into something of a scowl, however, an appreciative one to his name, and he simply scratched the top of his head in thought.

"Best pirate I've ever seen, Catherine. He's quite a brilliant man; he is always so sure of himself and his actions. His ship," he extended his pointer finger into the distance. She raised her hand to her brow and squinted her eyes into the distance. "The Black Pearl." So entranced in thought he failed to recognize the parting of her lips to speak and he continued with his banter.

"His faithful men are due to hang next month. Can you imagine the jail cells, their wretched bodies lying sprawled across the hay-laden floors? And the sick abandonment of hope as their Captain roams free. So terribly ach-''

He gasped at his openness to speak of a creature and pursed his lips suddenly. She softheartedly tossed him her smile and tightened her grip upon his arm.

"Certainly you can tame him, James." He simply returned her kindness and casually altered their conversation as he ignored such an ignorant statement, such a false one at that. He was never a creature to be caged. --


	6. Chapter 6

No time for talking, HERE COMES JACK SPARROW!

Curiosity got the better of James Norrington that evening. Indeed, at the finish of the party he stepped into the night's crisp air and onto the docks so delimited by the moon's clear light. It bounded across the vast sea and shown so brilliantly into the windows of the dark ship he stepped upon. She was beautiful. Her black sails, her mahogany floorboards- they all meshed so terribly well together into a dashing ship who had claimed the hearts of all who had sailed her.

He stopped first in the Captain's quarters, gaping wildly at its beauty. He shallowly leafed through a number of drawers, through endless trinkets and an immense variety of letters. He fumbled through a bookcase and patted the silk sheets of the magnificent bed. He rattled through drawers littered with little clothing and finally finished after what he found to be a rather long period of time.

He stepped outside once more and his palm brushed the railing as his steps furthered across the deck. He deadened at the helm, clutching the wheel with both hands intently. So many times had he watched its Captain lead her into the rich ocean and fail not to guide her through even the roughest of weather. He removed his hat in genuine respect, drew it to his heart, and closed his dark eyes.

"You're holding onto my life there, mate." James reared his back into the helm as he quickly pivoted his body with the sound of a deep voice behind him. The man chuckled softly.

"Captain Sparrow," James mumbled, lowering his head as his stare reached that of the man before him. The eyes which he had caught weren't shining as they more often had; it frightened him subtly. He took a few steps backwards.

Sparrow replaced Norrington's previous position as he grasped the wheel firmly and took his gaze out to sea. It didn't change as he spoke.

"I don't believe I am capable of defending that title to any further extent, _Admiral_. Ironic in the fact that you gain a new one, a higher one," he paused a moment, "and mine becomes thrown into history itself."

It certainly wasn't the Sparrow James had known. His clothes were worn to a mightier respect than usual, his hair mangled into knots never previously allowed by their wearer. More importantly, his beautiful face was smudged with ancient dirt and his once warm brown eyes shivered in the night. They held no being. Life and heart were torn from this man who stood before him, from this ghost who graced his presence. James opened his mouth to speak and rather the pirate cut him off.

"I know, Norrington, I know. Jack Sparrow stands before you and all callings of loyalty scream to you." He removed himself from his former stance and paced towards the Admiral. His eyes fell upon him and James ignored his glare. "However I ask you, as a man, to allow me to see my crew as they last stand." With the last few words uttered upon the deck, James Norrington raised his eyes and caught sincerity in those that lie just at their level. He nodded and instantaneously jerked his stare once more as he released a finger from his hand's clutched position and motioned for the Sparrow to follow him.

The thick black of night concealed the pair; they walked silently to the prison. Very simply a plan carried out as James removed the guard from his duty and took that man's post for the remainder of the evening. He then called in Jack Sparrow as his men slept uncomfortably upon the floor.

"I wish not for them to see me, Admiral." James tossed him a knowing smile and a quick nod. He leaned against a hard wall and simply marveled as he watched a Captain inhale his crew.

Jack Sparrow shuffled down the hall retaining all that remained of his faithful crewmen. He had stopped at each individual cell, soaking into his soul each one's specific love he had coated into his heart for them. Each individual face read identical to the other- tired, pained, and most failed. Such emotions were visible even in slumber.

He specifically remained longer at a particular face, that of Mr. Gibbs, his former first mate. He clutched onto the cool bars so tightly as so his knuckles faded to a ghostly white. His features shivered and he rested his forehead against the bar. The man contained shifted violently in his slumber and he miserably adjusted his position.

Jack couldn't any longer watch such a scene and tore himself from it as he whispered an apology into the air. He walked towards James and leaned comfortably beside him, pulling his hat to the bottom of his nose and covering his near tear ridden eyes. "Is it so terrible of a man to prefer his life above imprisonment and most certain death?" It was then that James raised his head, noticing an opening to the depths of the Sparrow that stood beside him. It was at that moment that James felt pities for that which he never recognized to be a man- a man very much similar to himself and all others that he was familiar with.

"It is so human, Mr. Sparrow. Life is the most precious of gifts; God would hate for us to surrender a battle for it."

"Ah, yet many say he would equally abhor a lack of loyalty and the abandonment of friendship."

Norrington was at such a loss of words, he trembled in the uncommonly serene prison. With the uncomforting silence that followed, Sparrow raised his hat, grinned at another man's perplexity, and immediately resumed his prior position.

James straightened his body and adjusted his jacket that need not adjustment. He cleared his throat.

"Mr. Sparrow," he coughed again, "I possess much too large a heart to condemn you, yet if I am to toss you into the wild I most certainly will be charged with conspiring to set free a pirate." --


	7. Chapter 7

It was something of the law, a sliver, maybe- that which James Norrington did that evening. Yes, indeed, bending a rule for a time to better it in the future can be the correct course. Lucky enough, the pair was sufficiently intelligent to discover such a fact. Captain Sparrow accompanied Mr. Norrington to his mansion, yes, followed him directly home, and sat beside him in his kitchen- all done not without a promise to put Port Royal behind him and return never more to its land when the day arrived of the ends of his men's lives.

They had walked without conversation. They had mainly kept to themselves. What much would two men of such differing calibers have to say one another? Or perhaps, what much would two men of such similar calibers have to speak over? They devoured minute cakes for a slight snack the moment they'd arrived, each starved through such events.

"I had never murdered any man before, James. Not a soul has been taken under my blade nor shot," he chewed nonchalantly at his piece. "And the first accusation of such a foul act embraces the lives of an entire crew."

James choked a bit at his tea.

"You are no murderer, Mister Sparrow." Jack ceased all actions and took James' eyes intently.

"When one accuses oneself it is most certainly a valid claim." --

Sparrow hadn't much of a mind in the past few days. He'd sauntered casually through the mansion, careful to avoid civilian eyes. He'd sit for hours on end in the parlor, keeping his focus upon a sole object and not adjusting his position. He wasn't much of a man at all, really.

And so, a particular evening he became rather curious as to the boundaries he might be capable of crossing.

Norrington sat snugly in a chair, warmth penetrating over his light skin through the fireplace. He mumbled lightly to himself and he indifferently adjusted his bifocals as he engaged himself tremendously within the confined pages of a particular novel. His uniform was unbuttoned; his coat sprawled across the arm of his seat; his wig tilted subtly upon his head.

A knock cascaded through the walls and he jolted with its noise. A voice claimed its creator.

"It's me." It was the Sparrow.

Norrington shuffled his jacket over his shoulders, clasping a few buttons together. He adjusted his wig rather quickly; he smoothed the blankets he had faintly ruffled. Perfection once more.

"You may enter."

Jack meaningfully closed the door behind him and turned to face the Admiral.

"In any way might it be possible for a man of my status to explore the beach so very near and enjoy the sea's peaceful company on this sole particular night?"

"Captain Sparrow, you are most certainly aware of all risks associated with such a request, however you take such time to bother me with their inquiries." Sparrow opened his mouth to speak and rather James' voice was the one to follow.

"Follow me."

And so he did. They retreated to a hidden stairwell, slender in size and far in height. They marched one after the other along the flights and finished finally in a retreat of James' own. The balcony wasn't too large in size, it was fairly perfect. The sea stretched for miles in its vision and the moon's light seemed to aim right for the deck.

"Collect yourself here, Sparrow. It's something I've learned over the years." He retreated back towards the stairwell yet turned just before taking its first step. "And take as long as you would like." --


	8. Chapter 8

Beneath a dark cloak, hood hovering over its captor's head, resided James Norrington himself. His fresh, black polished boots echoed through the empty church's pew, the only object on his person fully revealed. The chagrin etches of his face were disguised beneath the shadows of his coat. Embarrassment flooded over his appearance, intensity rising with each step he took. He settled himself beside the screen.

James had never been a man of God. He never fully grasped a concept of hope in his hands and never held more than a second's spark of faith. Times were changing and twists of fate were falling between his fingers. Those are such times when one human being's soul requires something definite. And you know, inspiration was a stronger flood than embarrassment.

His handsome voice fell over the silence.

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned. It has been thirty two long years since my last confession." He lowered to a whisper. "Thirty two years of idiocy in never finding myself."

"God is a forgiving man, James. What requires his forgiveness?"

"Father, what is my sin, Father? My sin is abandoning my loyal duties for my own moral weaknesses, for putting my selfish needs before anyone else's."

He stopped his own words from further spilling from his pink lips. He allowed no opportunity for a priest's response. He waltzed himself right outside into the pouring rain with no intent other than to reach his horses and return to his mansion.

Thick raindrops pelted over his paled face while hooves raced across the fresh mud. He was a determined man, intent on finishing right were he most pleased. When the steps ceased, he wasn't before the Norrington mansion. --


	9. Chapter 9

"Whatever you may have done, James, it will certainly end the right course when all is through. Certain acts are unexplainable in action, yet fully comprehendible when complete. No sense to be a fright in discovering the correct path when such destinies are unclear. Live. Breathe, son."

The speaker poured Mr. Norrington, who had yet to raise his eyes, a warm cup of tea.

"You are so much yourself now as when you were but a young boy, James," he said, laughing. "Not everyone can be pleased- it is a manner of life. How many times must I deliver such headlining news!? He continued on his laughing fit.

"Always once more," Mr. Swann. "You must know by now how it goodly affects my character's views." He allowed the fighting smile to play on the wonderful corners of his lips.

"Weatherby," chimed the Governor. "You know that." James' eyes rolled and Swann continued.

"Do you remember, you were but ten years old? A poor child, in the market, she'd stolen a loaf of bread from a local vender. You'd seen her starving eyes and witnessed the act of thievery clearly though you said not a word. And days later, after your political conscience had gotten the better of you, you had come crying to me filled with details and hidden emotions. It was the right act."

James nodded. He felt his heart flooding with similar emotions and laid his head upon his forearm.

"I remember, Weatherby."


	10. Chapter 10

James Norrington. His wonderful coat was thoroughly saturated and the brim of his hat leaked heavily on the soft ground. His wonderful boots splashed over the mud. They splashed with fear and they splashed with an intensity that never subsided. With a fury his strong arms broke the hold of the prison door and what he saw inside was not unexpected. Somehow he'd known, somehow he'd felt the Sparrow's presence could be discovered here.

The Sparrow's forehead was placed firmly against the bars, as if doing so could bring him that much closer to his friend. His hands clenched so tightly around them that even his knuckles fell white. And yet his eyes were so contrasted. They held no strength and were far lacking in faith. He was so broken.

James. He unleashed his revolver from his waistcoat and with the sound of a loading bullet Jack came to his feet. His arms hung limply at his sides as to announce surrender. James' heals clicked with an even pace towards the man. He needn't quicken it- the man was certainly not headed for retreat. Beads of water continued to tumble down his forehead and across the etches of his strong face. He breathed heavily. His eyes inquired the Sparrow's. And his hand, it shook as it held that revolver.

Jack had never seen such sincerity in a man's intent to kill. He never saw such valid reason for one's reason to do so. And yet he plainly stood there, for he knew he held no grounds to resist. He was fully responsible, and even doing so would satisfy he, himself, as well. His soul was dead besides.

Norrington struggled to release the words held captive in his heart. His lips stumbled upon each individual word until they finally revealed themselves to the obsession before him.

"Why you?"

Jack stood still. And James' voice heightened and heightened. It boomed over the still walls this time and echoed across the space.

"WHY FOR SO LONG HAVE I FAILED SO MUCH?" His grip grew tighter and the gun rested finally upon the Sparrow's temple.

"IF ALL I WISHED FOR AT THIS VERY MOMENT WERE TO--

"IF MY WILL TO PURSUE YOU COULD ESCAPE--

"IF AT THIS VERY MOMENT I FINALLY HELD THE COURAGE--"

He stopped. His hands clung as tightly as his clothes to his skin to his sides and the revolver fell to the floor. And his eyes, so full of contained tears, rose to observe those of the man who stood before him. And when he looked inside, all he could find was helplessness.

Instead, he took his fist pummeled it against the Sparrow's cheek. He fell hard upon the stone.

His voice became withered when he spoke again. It was soft and contained and quite sincere.

"Some people, in searching for answers, in seeking explanation, in looking for all such things in their competition, only seek the bad. They look for no other reason than to be superior to them. Well, I tell you, Mister Sparrow, I shall find the good. That is my ultimate duty and that… that I certainly hope you can assist me with."

He offered his hand to the man below him. He did not take it and rather lifted his own self. He wiped a trail of blood from his mouth before he finally opened his mouth. Now his voice, his voice was strong. Oh, but not, not so powerful.

"We can look, Admiral. We can look for years and decades but finding I cannot guarantee."

They traveled in silence to the mansion.


	11. Chapter 11

_3 hours earlier. _

Jack Sparrow. His name didn't escape the lips of noblemen much anymore. Women had grown tired of his Caribbean loving. They said they could find so much better. He wasn't so much of a threat these days. A fire didn't so much burn as an aura around his frame any longer. The edge had crumbled.

And what injured and struck him was not one of those things. His hair, once dark, full, and mangled, fell almost to nothing as gray and thinning settled in. No, he wasn't old. He was worn out. Worn out through endless years of running. Worn out with the lack of a woman to reel him in and hold his place. Worn out by the lack of will to run anymore, for where did it lead him? Through more and more hoops to overcome more and more obstacles that only led to another? Such a life, he found, was not of the best interest to him.

Certainly, his wisdom overrode everything of the sort. He knew of things that children wondered at. He was aware of things those who are deceased find only once they have died. He knew of mysterious powers and strange ways of life that philosophers of his time had only dreamed at. And he beamed when he recalled such things.

He sat at the kitchen counter with a thin layer of coffee at the bottom of his mug. He sat for quite a while after the Admiral had left, had sat in silence with the same blank stare in his eyes. And with some very strange desire, his eyes decided something and it was up the stairs he clambered.

It _smelled of a nobleman_ when he unfastened the closet doors. He closed his eyes as the fulfilling scent of the sea and the power of goodness swept over him. Beneath a mass of overcoats he found an old cigar box littered with past medals. He sat right there, smack dab in the center of the floor of the closet, with the box atop his lap. He ran his calloused fingers over each individual one's designs (for he made it a point to).

'James is a wonderful man,' he thought to himself as he shuffled through the box. He appreciated every ounce of James' being, ever feat he had accomplished and every falter he had lifted himself from. He respected the man's dire determination which he fully believed, at a time, mimicked his own. And now, now he considered James' soul so much greater than his.

And no, his purpose wasn't to admire what he could not attain, nor was it to pity his being. It was to change his attire. His calloused hands licked the wardrobe as he fumbled through it. Each shirt was firmly pressed and near identical. All buttons gleamed in the light and breeches were creased in only the proper places.

And no, there was no ruckus when he exited the mansion or when he darted through the streets. And the guard was kind when he barreled through the prison door. Everyone knows not to disrupt the path of a man on a firm mission. He was that man. --


	12. Chapter 12

James Norrington stumbled (for stumbling inquires a man is not certain of what he is doing) down the dark and trodden path that led to the tavern. Likewise, Sparrow paralleled him on an opposite road. His feet were in a firm march and only a hood devoured his face. James was completely concealed.

James entered. He approached the barman and he received a key. And he walked up the steps.

A few moments later, Jack entered. He approached the barman and he received a key. And he walked up the steps.

The rooms each entered differed only in that they were directly beside each other. Each contained a crude bed with a single nightstand and thick maroon curtains filled with dust an evening for which a shilling they could spend the night and do what they pleased with the woman who contaminated the room yet even further.

James' girl, he imagined, would be quite plump and disgustingly wretched and would hold all of the characteristics of a stereotypical woman of her status. Her breasts would spill over her "gown" and her makeup would be dramatically overdone. What he found, however, was much different. Her pale face was specked with only a splash of rouge. Her hair dangled thinly in its poor up-do and her dress was for more conservative than he might've imagined. As he twisted the knob of the door, she had immediately begun undressing with a shocked expression doubting her young beauty. He was just as surprised as she to find such a specimen behind the doors which belonged to his key- the key that seemed much too large to grasp in his already large hands.

Jack deserved the experienced woman with a blooming chest and a mass of curls that tumbled over her thick head. He appreciated the woman with the extravagant legs and with the extra weight around her middle. The idea was so familiar to him. He approached her the second his foot stepped inside. And he was the one who took to undressing her.

James entered her. Each second panged harder with guilt at his heart and the moments leading up to it. He could not continue. Her eyes were tightly clenched and she showed no emotion aside from resistance. Instead, he lay beside her.

She eyed him with curiosity but she did not speak until his lips parted first.

"What's your name," he questioned her. His eyes were hungry for answers and she found it intriguing.

"Melanie." Her weak voice was soft and his ear strained to decipher what she had said. But he was intent and patient and he had finally solved it. He found she was only seventeen, a victim of lost parents and poverty. 'As any other whore,' he thought. She opened her story to him, expressed her grief of her profession and of the hardships she faced. She felt, somewhere deep inside him, his ability to feel. And as she wept, he held her, allowed for her teardrops to stain his coat. He quietly listened to her words, enveloped her tears and cherished her ability to trust him. He played his role well. When he left, say give or take seven hours after Sparrow, he left her a surplus of money and his address if she needed a hand. And he held her a final time with geniality and an open mind. Yes, he imagined, she was capable of savior and this he was determined to offer her.

And Jack's? She appropriately spread her legs. And he had his pleasure and he slapped her a wet kiss upon her cheek as he left. But oh, she would remember him alright. He and his loving that could make a girl go crazy.


End file.
